“Just give it some time,” Fortner said. “I know this is all still very raw for you and shocking for everyone else.”
“Give it some time? Give it some time? I don’t want to give it time—I want revenge.”
“And eventually, I know we’ll exact the kind of justice that you’ll find satisfying and hopefully give you closure. But in the meantime, I think—”
“You’re not listening very closely,” Thurman said with a growl. “We know who pulled the trigger. Let’s just take care of it.”
“Hawk and Alex are doing the best the can, and when they’re satisfied that we’ve got the right man, they’ll take swift and decisive action.”
“Perhaps I’m not being clear enough for you. I want that Russian dead twenty-four hours ago. We don’t need an investigation.”
“Please have a seat and calm down,” Fortner said.
Thurman moved back in front of Fortner’s desk but remained standing. “I’m not calming down until I get a promise out of you that you’re going to do what I asked and order your agents to move on the actionable intelligence we already have regarding who was behind this.”
“Well, Senator, I’m not sure I can—”
“I don’t need excuses,” Thurman said, putting his knuckles on Fortner’s desk and leaning forward. “Need I remind you that I’m on the senate’s intelligence committee, the one that makes decisions about who gets to run this agency? I have the president’s ear, too. And if I think you’re jerking me around about this, I’ll take some action of my own. Is that clear enough for you?”
“I think you need to let the professionals handle this.”
“It’s not easy when they’re dragging their feet,” Thurman said, standing upright and backing away from Fortner’s desk.
“I’ll keep you posted on anything our agents learn.”
Thurman spun toward the door and stopped once he reached it. He turned back around.
“You better, General. I’ll be expecting a call very soon with the news that you avenged my son’s murder and eliminated a rogue FSB agent taking aim at American citizens. Anything less will be very disappointing and will result in swift consequences.”
Thurman exited the room and stormed past Fortner’s secretary. She wished him a good day, but Thurman didn’t respond as he charged out the door.
The only thing that’s going to make this a good day is news about a dead Russian spy.
CHAPTER 8
New York City
HAWK’S THOUGHTS ALWAYS turned toward protecting Alex when he had found himself in dangerous situations in the past. But this situation was intensely different. She wasn’t just a colleague any more—she was his wife.
Hawk’s first instinct was to engage as many men as possible and render them immobile. If Alex could hold one of the men at bay, Hawk would then be able to assist her in dispatching the remaining attacker. But things didn’t go as planned.
Two of the men grabbed Alex first, each one holding her by an arm. The remaining henchman circled Hawk, gesturing for him to come closer.
Hawk took his jacket off and set it down on a nearby crate, maintaining eye contact with the man. Then Hawk rolled up his sleeves.
“Would you like to fix your hair while you’re at it?” the man asked.
Hawk glared at him but didn’t say a word. With a quick glance and head nod toward Alex, Hawk signaled for her to be ready.
Turning his full attention back to the thug, Hawk rushed toward the man, stopping just short to swipe at his leg. Since he was already leaning forward in preparation for Hawk’s onslaught, the man went down easily. With a swift kick to the ribs, Hawk took control of the fight. The man moaned as he struggled to get back to his feet. Seizing on the man’s weakened state, Hawk kicked the man in the face, which sent him sprawling back to the ground. Hawk waited for the man stand upright before delivering a throat punch. The man staggered backward as he gasped for air, his brass knuckles slipping off his hand and clinking against the asphalt. Hawk dished out one more punch to the side of the man’s head, knocking him out cold.
Hawk gave Alex a slight nod—and she understood. With the two men on each side of her still gripping her arms, Alex drew her legs up and smashed her feet into their knees simultaneously. Both men instinctively reached for the area where she had inflicted pain, allowing her to get free. Hawk rushed the man to her left, driving him into the pavement. Grasping him by his shirt, Hawk pulled the man up before bashing his head against the ground. After three hits, the man went out.
Meanwhile, Alex spun and kicked the other man in the face. He fell down but rolled back up to his feet before charging at her. She slid out of the way, sustaining only a glancing blow that knocked her off balance but didn’t put her on the ground. When the man made a second run at her, Hawk blindsided him, drilling him sideways. They tumbled downward, landing in a shallow puddle with Hawk on top. The final henchman tried to limit Hawk’s arsenal to just one hand, but Hawk reached for the brass knuckles that had fallen off the first man and eased them on. With wide eyes, the man looked up at Hawk. He only needed one punch to put the man to sleep, but Hawk hit him twice to make sure it was a long nap.
When Hawk stood back up, he looked over to see Krasnoff racing down the alley and Alex in pursuit.
Hawk dashed after them, gaining ground rapidly. He passed Alex and a few seconds later caught Krasnoff. Hawk tackled the Russian before dragging him back to his feet and thrusting him against the wall.
“I only said I wanted to talk.”
Krasnoff shook his head. “You’re wasting your time. I’ve got nothing to say.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Hawk
